Lover Unveiled, page 40
“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Not at all.”
“Okay. I believe you.” He put his palms out. “Honest. I’m just curious, though . . . what in particular were you so angry with me about? I mean, it can’t be my charming personality.”
As she turned to face him, there was a pause—and abruptly, the air in the room changed. And even though it was dim, he could tell her eyes had dropped to his mouth, and in spite of her injuries, her scent shifted. Deepened.
“G’on, tell me,” Sahvage murmured. “You know how much you enjoy listing my shortcomings. There are so many of them in your book.”
When she still didn’t look away, even after he taunted her . . . that was when his blood started to thicken.
“Back when I was stuck in that place, I was angry . . .” Her voice broke. “I was angry that I was never going to know what it was like.”
“What is ‘it.’”
There was a long silence. Then she said, “Do you think we’re going to survive this?”
Unlike the “it,” he did not want her to struggle to define the “this.” There was no reason for her to say out loud that they were facing that brunette, searching for a Book that was a black-magic catalogue, and trying to raise the dead.
Yeah, ’cuz what could possibly go wrong with all that shit.
“I can promise,” he said, “that I will do everything in my power to get you out alive.”
Like they were in a dogfight.
Like they weren’t?
“Will I ever find the Book?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “But if that summoning spell worked to bring me to you . . . I’m going to bet it’s going to work to bring the Book in. It’s just taking some time to arrange the handoffs.”
And when it did land in her lap, he was going to save her life by—
“I was angry because I felt cheated,” she whispered. “If I didn’t . . .”
Now he was the one staring at her mouth. And fucking hell, there were so many reasons not to go down the road that was appearing before them, yet again. But . . .
“Say it,” he commanded.
“If I didn’t know what you were like.”
On a surge of sexual heat, Sahvage reached out and touched her face again, letting his fingertips drift along her jaw and then travel down to the flickering pulse at the side of her throat.
“You mean, as a dinner companion?” he said. “Or were you thinking of something more . . . engaging? Like chess.”
Mae sputtered a laugh. “Seriously.”
“Parcheesi?” He tilted forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I already know Monopoly puts you to sleep.”
Mae leaned into him, and he felt her hand on his shoulder—but not to push him away. She held on to him.
“I want just want to be with you.” As he went to say something, she put her finger on his lips to silence him. “I know it doesn’t change anything. I know you’re going to leave when this is all over. But I keep thinking . . . here I am, determined to bring my brother back—but what kind of life am I leading? All I do is work and worry. And the two people who made me swear to never have sex before I was mated have been gone for how many years? Three? What exactly am I waiting for? When is the next dog cage coming for me—and what will I be angry about not having done then?”
“I need you to know something,” he said in a rough voice.
Mae dropped her arm sharply. And he put it right back where it was.
“If I could be different, I would be—for you,” he told her. “And in the future, if you ever doubt how important you are, just think of me. I promise that I’ll be somewhere on the planet . . . thinking about how special you are, and wishing things were different.”
“You have that all backward.” She cupped her hand over his own. “You’re going to forget me and I’m going to be the one missing you.”
As he went to speak, she shook her head. “It’s okay. I am forgettable.”
“Don’t say that—”
“I am one of a thousand civilian females, out of her transition, but not in the decline of old age, living in a simple house, working a regular job. I worry about which day is trash day, and whether I’ve recycled enough. I get tangled in my own head in front of the vegetables at Hannaford when I can’t figure out what to eat. My car is ten years—well, was ten years old. I snore on my back, have bad dreams if I’m overtired, and miss the feel of the sun on my face, even though it’s been decades since I could go out at noontime.” She laughed in a cold rush. “Even the demon said I’m not bad-looking, but hardly worth crossing the street for—”
Sahvage kissed her. Because he wanted to. Because he hated what she was saying about herself. Because she didn’t get it.
Even if all those supposedly average vital statistics were true, she was still unforgettable.
To him.
When it came to being a legend, all it took was one person to recognize that you were epic. That was it.
• • •
As Sahvage’s mouth moved over Mae’s with gentle demand, she knew she’d annoyed him with her reality check—except she was right about all it.
No reason to argue, though. Not while he was . . .
As his tongue licked into her, she put her arms around his shoulders, ready for so much more. Yet he eased back, their mouths parting with a soft sound.
“Mae . . .”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Spare me the I-know-best, especially when it comes to me losing my v—”
“I’ll make it good for you,” he whispered. “I promise. That’s all.”
When he kissed her again, the door to her bedroom shut of its own volition, willed by him, not her. And as her eyes adjusted, she felt like she could feel the heat in his gaze, even though she couldn’t really see him. Then again, everything felt hot.
And she’d thought she’d missed the sun? Sahvage had brought it to her, not by hanging it over her head, but by putting it into her veins.
Mae was the one who lay back, and he came with her, keeping their lips together. Except as all he did was keep kissing her, she once again became impatient. So she took one of his hands and moved it onto her breast—
With a groan, she arched up to him, and he did exactly what she was hoping he would. He caressed her through her clothes, skating over her rib cage, going down to her hip, returning to where she was so sensitive. He made that route over and over again, soothing her, stroking her.
Just as she was wondering if she was going to have to take her own clothes off, he slipped his hand under her fleece, under her turtleneck. As he made contact with her skin, she groaned again. His hand was so broad, so warm, so calloused. A very male hand.
The only male hand to touch her like this.
Slowly, he moved upward, and when he got to her bra, he stopped. His thumb went back and forth a couple of times . . . and then he was under the sensible cotton cup, pushing it up.
“Sahvage,” she gasped.
Her skin was hypersensitive, and he knew where to rub, what to stroke, when to pinch. Her nipples strained, the hard tips tingling for more of what he was giving her, and her whole body went boneless.
“Please . . .”
“Please what,” he said into her mouth. “What do you want?”
“More.”
And that was how she became half naked. With a quick shift and an up-and-over, her top layers were off—
He was the one who groaned now. “You’re so beautiful.”
Mae looked down at herself. Her bra was cockeyed, one cup down, the other popped over, causing that breast to puff out, the nipple so very prominent.
The front fastening popped under his fingertips, and then the constriction was completely gone. The pink tips of her breasts were so tight, so high, and before she could get embarrassed about staring at herself, Sahvage was kissing her neck. Her collarbone. Her sternum.
Spearing her hands into his hair, she found her hips rolling, her legs sawing, her sex hungry for him.
When he captured her with his mouth, sucking, licking, kissing, he shifted so that he was lying in between her legs. Perfect. She used his body to work herself on, the pressure of him, the weight, the size, making her pant as she rubbed her core against his contours.
It was so perfect.
And if the actual moment they were joined was anything like this?
No wonder people did crazy stuff for good sex—
Abruptly, he lifted his head and cursed. “You’re killing me, Mae—”
“How? What am I doing wrong—”
“You’re doing everything too right.”
“Don’t stop.”
So he didn’t.
And when he lifted himself up off her naked breasts, and his hands went to her waistband, she rushed to help him, even though he knew what he was doing. The tugging and pulling as he undid the button on her jeans and unzipped the zipper moved things in a really good direction, and then he was pulling the legs down, peeling them off her thighs.
He took her panties with them as he went.
Mae had no shyness. No fear. No awkwardness. All she knew was the scent of him. And then the delicious weight of his body as it returned to her. And finally a burning anticipation that made her feel like she was on fire.
“I want to touch you, too,” Mae said as he went to kiss her again.
Talk about an instant response.
Sahvage yanked his shirt off so fast, there was a tearing sound, like something had ripped—and he didn’t stop to check and see what it was. He tossed the thing aside as if it were utterly disposable and went right back to kissing her mouth, kissing her throat, kissing her breasts.
“I hurt—”
The instant the word came out of her mouth, he jerked up. “Oh, God, I’m sorry—”
“No, no . . .” She was mumbling. “Not like that.”
He sagged with relief. Then his voice got really, really low. “Where does it hurt, Mae.”
She purred and rubbed herself against him. “Here . . .”
“Here, where?” He kissed her shoulder. “No? How about here?” He kissed her rib cage. “No . . . hmm . . . how about here.”
He kissed her belly button. Then ran his tongue around it.
Mae’s knees fell open. Even though where he was heading was shocking, she was so desperate for something, anything, to ease the heat and the straining and the—
“Still not the right place?”
Mae’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness so as she lifted her head, she looked down her body to find Sahvage staring up at her, his enormous shoulders blocking the square of light around the door, his hulking body covering her.
Like she was his prey.
And that was fine with her. She was more than ready to be eaten.
Mae might have not had sex before, but Sahvage was the one who was unprepared for what was happening. He’d never expected to be so affected by . . . her skin, her scents, her innocent eroticism as she rubbed herself against any part of him that came into contact with her gloriously bare, beautiful aroused sex.
He hadn’t meant to take things in this direction.
But here they were—with him about to put his mouth on—
“Sahvage,” she moaned.
Throwing her head back into the pillows, Mae arched again and then undulated, her breasts peaking, those tight little nipples the kind of thing he couldn’t not touch.
Reaching up, he tweaked one and then rolled the other back and forth between his thumb and forefinger, rolling . . . rolling . . . rolling.
And then he dropped his head and brushed her lower abdomen with his lips. “Here? Mae . . . does it hurt here?”
In a rough voice, she said, “Lower.”
Fuck, he thought as he went over to her hip. Whispering his mouth on the graceful ridge of her pelvis—then he slid his lower body completely off the end of the bed. As his knees hit the carpet, he pulled her down to him by the backs of her knees, her thighs wide open, her sex glistening in the low light.
Sahvage licked his lips in anticipation. “I need to taste you,” he heard himself say.
As she moaned his name, he started on the outside of one of her legs, just in case she had second thoughts.
She did not. She said his name again . . . in that rough, panting voice that nearly made him come.
Moving over, kissing his way across the top of her thigh to the very inside of it, following the crease where it met her body, where it connected to her—
He meant to stay on that soft skin, on the precipice of her beautiful sex, but her pelvis shifted without warning—
And suddenly his lips were on hers, and all his planning to be gentle, go slow, take it easy, went right out the fucking window. He sucked her in—and the instant her taste registered, his brain completely shorted out.
As Mae yelled his name and grabbed his hair hard, he unhinged completely. Locking his palms on the backs of her thighs, he widened her even farther as he pleasured her with his mouth and his tongue—lapping and sucking at her until he knew she was getting close.
With a sudden surge, Mae moved herself against his face and—
Just as he’d intended, she called out and went rigid, except for her sawing breath. And then she jerked over and over again, her body releasing as he licked at her to keep her going . . . while all he wanted was to be inside of her, feeling her contractions until he orgasmed, too.
Except he wasn’t going to do that.
She deserved so much better than him for her first time, and he was not going to cheat her out of the joy and communion that would come when she gave herself out of love instead of desperation. He just couldn’t do that to her.
The good news? There were a lot of other things they could do together.
When Mae finally went limp, her arms flopping on the duvet, her head doing the same, she was breathing hard, her breasts pumping up and down, her ribs expanding and contracting. Sahvage smiled and started planning their next position. Like her on all fours in front of him, his hand jerking himself off all over her sex so he could lick her clean—
Off in the distance, out in the sitting room, a phone started ringing.
But like he was leaving her, under any circumstances?
“Sahvage?” she asked on a mumble.
“You’re incredible,” he murmured as he stroked her thighs.
“What . . . what are you going to do now? What . . . what about you?”
Straightening on his knees, he went for his waistband. As he undid his combats, he realized his cock was so hard, so hungry, that he had to grit his teeth and exercise some self-control—or risk coming all over her.
Which he was about to do. He just wanted to be naked when he did it—and she was so relaxed, he decided he wasn’t going to make her get on her knees. He liked this view just fine, her breasts taut and straining, her belly so smooth, her sex . . .
“You okay?” he asked her. Like the penetration that was happening in his mind was actually going on right now.
“I’m . . . oh, God, yes . . .” she said as she saw his erection.
With hands that were suddenly trembling, he did away with his pants, all but Magic Mike’ing them by ripping them off his lower body.
And what do you know, her mattress happened to be at the perfect height for him: His erection was right at the level of her core. But he needed to be sure.
“You all right?”
“Oh, God, yes . . . and I want more.”
“You do?” He didn’t mean to stroke himself. But he did. “Fuck, Mae . . .”
Her hands were restless, grabbing at the duvet, fisting it up . . . one of them slipping free and bumping into her hip.
Sahvage reached out and took her hand. Moving it between her legs, she gasped as he caressed her with her own fingers while he worked his cock.
As she came close to climaxing again, he said, “Mae—Mae, look up at me.”
In the dimness, he caught her gleaming eyes as she followed his command. And then he lifted what she’d been rubbing herself with to his mouth. Sucking her fingers in, he was oh, so satisfied as she cried out again, his name echoing around her bedroom.
Lapping up her essence, he smiled in the darkness . . . as he realized she already was the best lover he’d ever had.
• • •
When Mae’s eyes squeezed shut, she couldn’t make them stay open. But good God, she wanted to keep seeing everything. She wanted to watch all of it—yet there was a surprising eroticism to the darkness. All she knew was Sahvage’s tongue, hot and slick, licking at her fingers . . . then his hot and slick mouth sucking her thumb in.
The smacking noises made her insane.
And a new release rolled through her.
When it finally drifted off, she opened her eyes. Her lover was a hulking shape above her and his scent was flooding her nose and he was—
He lowered her hand to the duvet. And just as she was about to ask him—what had she been going to ask?—she felt something on her sex.
It was not his fingers. It was not his mouth.
It was blunt. And very smooth. And very hot.
Mae arched again, and if there had been a way to get her thighs even farther apart, she would have done it.
Sahvage stroked her with himself, teasing the opening to her sex, then focusing on the top of her cleft. As another orgasm sprang into her core, into her blood, she knew now was the time . . . now was when it was going to happen . . .
His broad palm locked on her hip, holding her steady. As Mae was suspended on the brink, she heard hoarse words leaving her mouth and had no idea what she was saying. But he was rubbing her faster and faster, and the fact that it was his sex on her sex, the two of them so close to being joined, meant everything was magnified.
Just as she began to come again, she heard a clicking. A fast clicking. One of his arms was going back and forth—and then he was bracing himself on the mattress with the opposite palm, looming over her, about to—
The first of the hot jets lashed across her sex and the heat of them made her explode once again. As she came for—how many times had it been?—whatever, as she came again, he ejaculated all over her, covering her core, her inner thighs, her lower abdomen.
